


I Need Answers For What All the Waiting I've Done Means

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-12
Updated: 2006-08-20
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:29:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8696620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: The downward spiral. The sequel to "And You Can Be the Remedy."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** I Need Answers For What All the Waiting I’ve Done Means (1/?)  
**Author:** [ ](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/profile)[**keepaofthecheez**](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/)  
**Characters:** Sam/Dean  
**Rating:** NC-17 overall  
**Category:** underaged Wincest, slash  
**Word Count:** 6, 368  
**Spoilers/Warnings:** pre-Pilot; language, incest, underaged m/m sexual content, mentions of drug use.  
**Disclaimer:** Oh, if only.   
**Summary:** The downward spiral.  
**Notes:** It’s not necessary, but you might wanna read the prequel [[here]](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/158178.html).  
Obviously, this is a WIP, so Part 2 should follow shortly. Hope you guys enjoy!  
 

 

The second he saw the Impala waiting in the parking lot, every muscle in Sam’s body tensed. He wasn’t even fully out of the school doors before he heard Dean’s throaty laughter, the kind his older brother always saved for whenever there was a female within five millimeters of him.  
  
And sure enough, there was Dean; hip resting against the Chevy’s driver-side door while a group of girls – senior cheerleaders, Sam pinpointed when he drew closer – gathered around the car. There was so much hair flipping and fluttering of lashes that Sam could feel the wind from where he was standing, and his lips pulled into a frown when he realized how much Dean was obviously enjoying the attention.  
  
“…little brother,” Dean was saying, and then he glanced up and saw Sam. His expression brightened, which made Sam feel slightly better, until he caught sight of the paper sticking out of Dean’s chest pocket; telltale feminine writing accompanied by…good God, was that _lipstick?_  
  
“Sammy,” Dean drawled, and Sam glared at him until Dean appeared slightly taken aback and cleared his throat, reaching back to scratch his head. “Uh, you ready to go?”  
  
“Yes,” Sam clipped out, ignoring the girls and stalking around the car to jerk the door open. He threw his book bag in the backseat and climbed in as he half-listened to Dean work his mojo to get the girls to disappear without disappointment. Seconds later, Dean was sliding in beside him, and he rested his hands on the steering wheel before shooting Sam a look.  
  
“Okay. What’s crawled up your ass and died _now?_ ”  
  
Sam’s chin jutted out and he didn’t meet his brother’s gaze. “Do you have to mack on _all_ the girls who go to my school?” he couldn’t help but say, and then wanted to bite his tongue off when he caught the bitter dregs of jealousy coloring his voice.  
  
Dean just laughed and started the engine. “Whatever, dude. I was just trying to help _you_ out. Those chicks didn’t even know your name…what the hell have you been up to in that place all day, Sammy?”  
  
Cheeks flushing, Sam finally shot Dean a pointed look. “Getting an education, Dean. One that doesn’t involve finding out the color of Cindy Wilson’s thong underwear,” he spat, thinking of the way the head cheerleader had been hanging all over Dean before he’d arrived.  
  
A mysterious smile tilted Dean’s lips as he took the turn that led off campus and back to the real world. “Hmm,” was all he said, and Sam saw red.  
  
“You’re a fucking jerk.”  
  
“Jesus, chill out…I don’t even know which one Cindy Wilson is,” Dean laughed, slanting Sam a quick glance before returning his gaze to the road. “Seriously, what’s up, Sam? You look about ready to fry a circuit.”  
  
As if the fucker didn’t know.  
  
It was coming up on three weeks to the day since Dean had last touched him. Or more specifically, since Dean had let _Sam_ touch _him_. Things had been going great between them – all things considered – and they hadn’t had an argument that Sam was aware of, and he actually kept track of that kind of shit. To Dean’s never-ending amusement, and Sam’s constant teasing.  
  
Dad was still gone more often than not, popping in every few days to check up on them and refill Dean’s wallet. They both knew the old man was onto something, or thought he was, but Sam didn’t care. Not as long as he wasn’t dragging him and Dean along with him. Dean _did_ care, but Sam chose to chalk that up to the fact that his brother was stuck in the house all day by himself while Sam was in school.  
  
They were, for all intents and purposes, alone. All the time. And yet, Sam could count on one finger the amount of times he’d gotten his hands on Dean in the past month. He’d always been the one more likely to initiate, which was fine because he understood Dean sometimes suffered from random bouts of conscience over “taking advantage” of Sam’s age. Which was utterly fucking ridiculous, but Dean was a stubborn son of a bitch, and Sam always had to talk him out of these moments with his hands and lips and tongue.  
  
Only now, Dean was being careful to keep his distance. Sure, he still responded to Sam’s attempts, but he never let it get any farther than a come-hither stare or some suggestive comments. It was really starting to freak Sam out, thinking that he’d said or done something to turn Dean off of him. Ever since Dean’s gunshot wound and the subsequent “endorphins experiment” in the motel in Alabama, Dean was acting very strange around him. One minute he’d be Dean – laughing and joking and being a general pain in Sam’s ass – and the next, Sam would find his brother watching him with unreadable eyes and a pained expression.  
  
Dean always blew him off whenever Sam asked what it was he was thinking about.  
  
Sam made a disgusted sound, which Dean apparently took as the end of the conversation because he then reached down and turned on the radio at a volume that would probably end up getting them arrested. Sam tried to resist banging his head against the window to the voice of Lemmy Kilmister, grinding his teeth so hard he half-expected to glimpse enamel flying about his head.  
  
The second Dean pulled into the gravel driveway, Sam was out of the car and halfway up the sidewalk before Dean managed to put the Impala in park. “Hey, what’s the fucking hurry?” Dean snapped, catching up with him and slipping in front of the door before Sam could shove his key in the lock. He looked frustrated and upset, but Sam wasn’t feeling particularly inclined to help him feel any better.  
  
“Get outta my way,” he muttered, hunching his shoulders and moving to brush past his brother. Dean, although a few inchers shorter now thanks to that last growth spurt, held his ground and stared up at Sam with narrowed eyes. “Damn it, Dean…”  
  
“You’ve been acting like a bitch since I picked you up,” Dean continued, effectively blocking every move Sam made to get into the house. For anyone who might’ve been watching their antics, it would’ve been quite hilarious, Sam was sure. As it was, he was pissed off enough to take Dean by his still healing shoulder and throw him bodily across the lawn.  
  
“I’m telling you right now, if you don’t—”  
  
“So, what, you don’t want me picking you up from school anymore?” Dean ran right over his words, voice gruff and aggressive with some emotion Sam couldn’t label. Dean’s eyes were dark, his lips flat. “Am I cramping your style or somethin’, Sammy?”  
  
That was almost laughable, except Sam was far past the point of amusement. He fell back on the Winchester staple of cynicism and antagonism instead, crowding Dean against the door until his brother blinked in surprise. “Yeah, that’s it,” he said in response to Dean’s question, sarcasm thick in his voice. “In fact, maybe _I_ should get the car on weekdays. You’re not doing shit but lying around touching yourself all day anyway. God only knows you’re not letting _me_ touch you.”  
  
As soon as he said it, it was as if the entire world stopped moving. Sam couldn’t hear anything but the roar in his own ears as Dean stared at him, expression frozen and blank. His brother’s throat worked a few times, and then he sort of managed a wheezy, “Sam…” before his mouth snapped closed and he moved out of Sam’s way.  
  
Sam shoved past and ran inside the house, bounding up the stairs to the room he shared with Dean. He didn’t bother to listen and see if Dean followed, slamming the door with his foot and stripping his shirt off as he moved toward the bathroom. He’d showered that morning and wasn’t dirty, but it seemed the safest way to assure Dean wouldn’t come looking for him.  
  
Not that he really expected him to.  
  
 

* * *

  
  
Dean tried to concentrate on the television for a good fifteen minutes before he realized the program he’d been pretending to watch had changed to some afternoon talk show about the struggles women faced during menopause. He picked up the remote, quickly turning the damn thing off, then slumped into the cushions with a frustrated groan.  
  
He could still hear the water running over his head, and had to physically restrain himself from going up there and…doing what? That was the problem. Dean had absolutely _no_ fucking clue how to deal with the current situation between him and Sam.  
  
It wasn’t like they’d even had an argument exactly, things had just somehow seemed to…change. Again. They’d gone from brothers, to a deeper closeness, to Dean feeling unsure of himself every time Sam left his car to walk through the heavy doors of his high school. He’d sit in the Impala and watch, throat tight as his brother’s lanky form disappeared into the building, and wonder if that day would be the day Sam would finally realize how truly fucked-up their situation was. If that would be the day Sam would put a stop to it, as Dean should have done the minute it started.  
  
At first, things had been great. Dean had been able to ignore the niggling in the back of his mind that maybe this really wasn’t the best idea. After all, Sam had initiated the change, hadn’t he? Dean was simply giving his little brother whatever it was he needed, like he’d promised himself he’d do the second he’d looked down into eyes half-shielded by a blanket while their family home burned away in front of him.  
  
The fact that it was also something _he_ wanted was inconsequential. He wasn’t doing it for himself; it was for Sammy. Always Sammy. And that had been justification enough, perverse as it was, until that day about a month ago that had opened Dean’s eyes fully to the repercussions of his actions.  
  
He’d watched as the young girl and Sam had talked, the girl obviously nervous as hell in the presence of his completely oblivious younger brother. And Dean would never forget the look of disappointment that colored her pretty face when Sam finally caught sight of him, and all but patted the girl on the head before leaving without another word. Neither would he forget the sense of relief that had filled his own heart; the knowledge that today wouldn’t be the day he’d lose Sam in that way.  
  
Nevertheless, he’d started preparing himself for the inevitable outcome to the sort of relationship they’d struck up, and had begun pulling away from Sam more and more. Refusing the invitation in his brother’s eyes whenever he looked up at Dean, expression meaningful and long fingers stretching Dean’s way. Pretending he didn’t understand when Sam would clear his throat while Dean and Dad were watching television, and feign exhaustion at eight o’clock at night.  
  
Judging by his brother’s behaviour that afternoon, Sam was starting to get the idea, and Dean wasn’t sure if he was grateful or sick to his stomach.  
  
The water shut off and Dean sat straight up, trying to find a position that wouldn’t look as though he’d been sitting there moping for the past half-hour. He could hear Sam’s heavy footfalls, and then his brother’s body popped into view, and Dean sucked his tongue all the way to the back of his throat.  
  
“Where the hell’s all the clean laundry?” Sam was complaining, scratching idly at a spot over the curve of his left hip, left obscenely bare by the loose fit of the towel. Dean looked everywhere _but_ at That Spot, finally catching Sam’s exasperated stare.  
  
“Uh…I’ll do a load later. Y-You can borrow something of mine,” he managed, tripping only slightly over the words. His fingers searched for the remote, and then he was watching Women With Menopause like it was the fucking Super Bowl.  
  
“Oh, yes, because I so _want_ to look like a freaking poster child for the Mullet Nation,” Sam was muttering under his breath, already stomping back upstairs as Dean let out a sigh of relief.  
  
Once Sam and all his half-nakedness was safely out of sight, he felt brave enough to yell back, “Keep the fuck away from my Zeppelin shirt!”  
  
“I don’t want your stupid Zeppelin shirt!” Sam returned, and Dean almost smiled. This…this felt a little more normal. He could do _this_. Just as long as Sam didn’t come back down and try any of his usual tricks, Dean would be just fine.  
  
Which meant, of course, that the second Sam reappeared, he knew he was doomed.  
  
His brother was wearing an expression of distaste, pulling at the just-too-tight material stretching across his chest with a frown that only made Dean think of that pout around his dick. He focused instead on the colorful words splashed across the band shirt, and tried to ignore the sudden demand coming from his lap. “Uh…heh…Sammy. I think you’ve finally outgrown me.”  
  
“Dude, do you even _own_ anything that you didn’t buy at a concert?” Sam snarked as he came to stand in front of Dean, hands planted on his hips. “And don’t say your leather jacket, because I know you got that before the Aerosmith tour.”  
  
“What can I say?” Dean shrugged, flashing his teeth and hoping Sam couldn’t read the desperate need in his eyes. “I don’t do The Gap.”  
  
Sam made a face, but acknowledged the crack with a twist of his lips as he flopped down on the couch. “Too bad…I’m sure you’d look real cute in a polo and cords.”  
  
Dean mock-shuddered. “You can keep ‘em, Sam.” He tried not to notice how close Sam was, but that was pretty damn difficult when Sam’s sweatshorts-clad thigh was pressed right up against his own. Dean shifted, eyes firmly focused on the television. Sam didn’t move. He cleared his throat, shifted again, and he thought Sam might’ve moved even closer.  
  
“Dean, are you watching _Oprah?_ ” Sam’s voice whispered right into his ear, and Dean jumped about twenty feet in the air before sending his brother a glare.  
  
“Christ, Sam, it’s called personal space.”  
  
Whatever had been aggravating Sam earlier seemed to have disappeared with his shower, because instead of getting irritated and backing off as Dean had hoped, Sam merely smiled and leaned even closer. Dean’s eyes snapped to the curve of his brother’s mouth, and then his lids were falling closed as Sam answered, “Thanks for the definition.”  
  
And then, fuck, Sam was in his lap and Dean wasn’t sure if he’d been the one to put him there or not. His arms wrapped around Sam’s waist and he opened his mouth beneath his brother’s lips, letting Sam’s tongue play with his as Sam’s hips ground down against his cock.  
  
A ragged groan ripped through the air, and Dean was pretty sure it’d come from his own throat. “Sam…” he was saying, fingers already sliding up the back of Sam’s shirt. _His_ shirt. He felt along the shifting muscles, swallowing hard as Sam buried his face in his neck and panted, still rolling and rocking his hips.  
  
“Want you so much,” Sam whispered, and something in Dean’s chest clenched, hard. He was gone, helpless against the onslaught as Sam pulled back and stared down at him through the thick curtain of his lashes. “Don’t push me away, Dean.”  
  
Dean opened his mouth to reassure, but knew if he spoke the spell would be broken and he’d have to put a stop to this. So he just dragged Sam’s head back down, sucking Sam’s lower lip between his teeth and laving the supple flesh with his tongue. Sam twisted, then made a sound deep in his throat that went straight to Dean’s cock.  
  
Before Dean fully comprehended his own actions, he had Sam beneath him, pressing his brother’s body deep into the couch as he humped and rubbed and bit and sucked. Sam’s cheeks were flushed with pink, shaggy hair disheveled and sticking up every which way, but Dean had never seen a more mouthwatering sight in his life. He bent his head and caught the hem of his shirt with his teeth, dragging it up and over Sam’s lower stomach, relishing the hitch in his brother’s breathing as his own breath coasted across Sam’s skin.  
  
“Are you gonna…?” Sam trailed off, voice a mixture of hope and uncertainty as Dean looked up and caught his gaze. They both froze, and then Dean reached for Sam’s waistband.  
  
“Yeah, I’m gonna,” he forced out through muscles tight in his throat. “Just sit back and relax, bro.”  
  
Sam let out a half-laugh, head falling back. “Yeah. Right.”  
  
And Dean had to grin, already tugging the shorts down his legs, careful of the press of Sam’s erection against navy cotton boxers. Dean made quick work of them and then sat back to admire the sight before him. Sam’s heels dug into the couch and he canted his hips, neck muscles straining as he bit his lower lip and eyed Dean pleadingly.  
  
Normally, Dean would’ve taken that as a challenge and drawn things out as long as he could possibly stand. But it’d been days, weeks since he’d had Sam like this and his head was already lowering, eyes falling shut, lips opening to close over Sam.  
  
“Fuck.” The curse was high-pitched and breathy as Sam swallowed, fists clenching and unclenching, and then they were in Dean’s hair, tugging, but he didn’t mind the slight burn in his scalp. “Dean…Jesus God…”  
  
“Don’t be blasphemous, child,” Dean murmured, a wicked grin in place as he drew his tongue along a particularly sensitive ridge.   
  
His mimicry of the old Sunday school teacher they’d had once upon a moon was apparently enough to get Sam’s attention, because his brother’s thighs tightened around Dean’s neck and he choked out, “Fuck you.”  
  
“Way to be nice to the guy with your dick in his mouth. That’s just common sense, Sam.”  
  
“I swear to _God_ …”  
  
Dean cut him off, sucking hard and deep. The slick-slide of his lips up and down Sam’s cock was wreaking havoc on his own body, and he bit back a frustrated groan, pressing his hips down into the cushions, searching for some kind of relief as Sam twisted and moaned beneath him.  
  
A stream of incoherent words was spilling from Sam’s lips as Dean blew him, and the husky plea rich in his brother’s voice was Dean’s undoing. His mouth worked faster, and he reached down and pressed a palm firmly against himself as he came. It wasn’t something he was particularly proud of, but fuck if he could control it when Sam was making _that sound_ and begging and pleading for things he had no idea about.  
  
When it was over and the taste of Sam was rich on his tongue, Dean could only sit back and stare down at his brother through heavy-lidded eyes; mind working overtime as he replayed Sam’s “Fuck me, christ, just fuck me!” in his head. It was something that had yet to be brought up between them, not that Dean hadn’t been thinking about it.  
  
Okay, obsessing over it.  
  
He’d lost count of the number of times he’d woken up wrapped around Sam, hips working in slow bursts as hazy glimmers occupied his mind. Images of Sam beneath him, arching back as tight flesh closed around his dick. Dean would have to pry himself away to keep from fulfilling that dream while Sam lay there, murmuring softly in his sleep and pressing back innocently against Dean.  
  
Dean wouldn’t – couldn’t - do anything Sam didn’t want, wasn’t ready for, and that had been his protection until now. Apparently they had a few things to discuss, and the thought of _that_ conversation made him nearly dizzy with anxiety.  
  
Once he fucked Sam, there was no coming back from that. Ever. And the greedy, possessive part of him that wanted Sam to continue looking at _him_ as the provider for everything he needed was fine with that. It was the big brother in him that knew it was wrong, that leaving a mark of himself like that on Sam would be tantamount to ruining Sam’s life.  
  
Dean would never be able to forgive himself if he tied Sam to himself that way when he knew his brother was deserving of so much more. Because Dean knew Sam, knew how loyal and stubborn he could be. And he knew, he _knew_ if he let things go as far as Sam was apparently willing to go, Sam would fixate on him and never let himself experience what or who else could be out there. In that aspect, Sam was a Winchester through and through.   
  
“What? What is it?” Sam was asking, features flushed as he watched Dean’s inner struggle with himself. He tucked both arms behind his head, looking sleepy and satisfied and a bit confused by Dean’s silence. The longer it dragged on, Sam’s smile slipped, and then a lost and uncertain expression crossed his brother’s features, and Dean knew he had to get the fuck out of there.  
  
_He_ wasn’t ready for this shit.  
  
“I, uh…” He bit the words off and just came to his feet, backing away from the couch as he pasted a smile on his face. He had an extra pair of pants in the Impala. “I’ll be back.”  
  
Sam sat up on his elbows, and Dean was abruptly grateful for the lethargy that always seemed to overpower his brother after a climax. “Dean, hey,” Sam was saying, concern written across his features, but Dean was already out the door.  
  
 

* * *

  
  
Sam woke up to the sound of the front door slamming, sitting straight up and breathing hard as he dragged a shaky hand through his hair. He didn’t remember having fallen asleep waiting for Dean, but a quick glance at the clock showed it’d been several hours since he’d last looked out the window hoping to see the Impala come cruising up the street.  
  
He was on his feet and halfway down the hall when he heard the furious whispers, and then Dean’s husky laughter – the kind Sam knew all too well. Chills went down Sam’s spine, his stomach dropping to the bottoms of his feet as he glanced over the railing and saw his brother backing some unknown figure up against the wall. There was a giggle – definitely feminine – and then…  
  
_Goddamn you, Dean._  
  
He started to disappear back into the shadows, but froze when Dean groaned. And although his stomach was in knots, he couldn’t resist looking back to see what it was that was causing his brother to make the same sounds he made whenever _Sam_ was touching him. He stared in horrified fascination the entire time Dean fucked the petite brunette, her throaty cries muffled by Dean’s mouth.  
  
Sam slammed the bedroom door the minute Dean came, stomach upset and a cold sweat at his temples as he climbed back into bed and stared at the ceiling. There was silence downstairs, and then he heard the front door close, softer this time, and Dean’s footsteps echoed on the stairs.  
  
Sam rolled over, facing away from the bedroom door as Dean hesitated right outside, and then the hinges creaked as his brother came in the room. Sam’s breath hitched in his throat, but he didn’t look over and meet the stare that was currently boring into the back of his skull.  
  
He could smell the girl on Dean now; the sickeningly-sweet aroma of perfume mingled with the sandalwood cologne Dean typically favored. It made him want to curl up into a ball and die.  
  
“Sammy?” Dean’s voice was soft, weak, and maybe even a little bit fearful. Sam squeezed his eyes shut as Dean approached, and then the mattress sank down at his back and he sucked in sharply.  
  
“You missed dinner,” was all he could think to say, and he didn’t move at all. “I ordered Chinese. Left the receipt on the kitchen table so you can add it up later.”  
  
Dean didn’t answer, and Sam wasn’t sure if he was thankful for that or if he wanted to strangle his brother. At that particular moment, there was no telling what he might have done had Dean pressed the issue. As it was, Dean simply stood up and moved across the room to his own bed. Sam watched through his lashes as his brother undressed, breath catching when the naked line of Dean’s back caught the moonlight before Dean slid in between the sheets.  
  
Sam didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.  
  
The next morning, neither spoke as Sam got ready for school. They didn’t speak the entire drive there, and they didn’t speak when Sam got out of the car to go inside the building. He could still hear the engine idling as he passed through the doors, and glanced over his shoulder to find Dean staring back at him, knuckles clenched white around the steering wheel.  
  
He barely comprehended anything the teachers had to say all day, and when lunch break finally arrived, Sam walked outside to the courtyard and sat at one of the stone picnic benches. He wasn’t hungry, and he didn’t want to talk to anyone. Which was why a burst of annoyance took hold when a shadow fell over him.  
  
“You look rough.”  
  
Sam stared up at the expression of his sort-of-friend-from-chemistry-class, Tony, and made a face. “Yeah, thanks man.”  
  
Tony grinned and took the opposite side of the table, clearly ignoring Sam’s irritation. He was twirling a set of keys around his finger and picking at loose threads on the school jersey stretched across his chest. “Aw hell, that look’s a girl problem if I ever saw one. Who broke your heart, Sam?”  
  
Sam stiffened even more, hoping like hell the flush creeping up his neck wasn’t as obvious as it felt. “No one,” he answered shortly, expecting Tony to take the hint and leave.  
  
“Okay, then. Hey, you wanna get out of here?”  
  
Sam blinked, finally looking up from the top of the table to meet Tony’s bright green gaze. With the sun at his back, highlighting close-cropped light brown hair, Tony was almost a dead ringer for Dean. He shifted, and then was back to looking like regular old Tony.   
  
Maybe Sam was just completely losing his fucking mind.  
  
“It’s the middle of the day,” he pointed out slowly, holding his friend’s gaze and wondering at the half-smile curving Tony’s lips.  
  
“It sure is.” Tony continued to watch him, smirk firmly in place as he cocked a brow and all but challenged Sam with his direct stare.  
  
Sam opened his mouth to protest, then remembered the sound of his brother getting off with a random bimbo in their living room. His fingers clenched into fists, and he thought _why the fuck not?_ If Dean got to hook up with chicks while Dad was gone, then the least Sam could do was skip a half-day of school. It wasn’t like Dean would even notice anyway. And wasn’t he always ragging on Sam for not being more outgoing? More adventurous? Maybe that was why he’d—  
  
“Yeah. Let’s get out of here,” he heard himself say, blocking out his inner thoughts before they could fully form, and then was blinded by Tony’s smile as his friend jumped to his feet and called over his shoulder to a few people waiting nearby. Sam blinked, recognizing a few of the girls as the ones who had been hanging all over Dean the day before.  
  
“He’s in,” Tony said, grinning at Sam as the others approached, and then his arm was slung around Sam’s shoulders and Sam was being led away from the campus grounds and toward the parking lot.  
  
He experienced a slight moment’s panic when everyone started piling into the Jeep, and then he remembered Dean’s sarcastic “You gotta lighten up, bro” and gritted his teeth. He took the passenger seat, not even realizing it’d been left open for him.  
  
“So where are we going?” Sam finally thought to ask, fingering the strap of his book bag like a lifeline when Tony took a turn for the dirt roads out of town. “And what are we gonna do?”  
  
“Anywhere and everything,” Tony responded over the beat of a Third Eye Blind song, catching Sam’s perplexed expression and grinning  
  
  
 

* * *

  
  
  
“I’m gonna kill him,” Dean muttered, arms crossed against his chest as he continued watching the horde of high school students come pouring out through the double-wide doors. None of them looked familiar; none towered over everyone in creation, brown hair flopping over hazel green eyes.  
  
He’d been waiting for fifteen minutes, and Sam was always, _always_ out of the building in five. Dean often wondered if his younger brother even knew how he looked; features pinched and eyes panicked until he’d catch sight of the Impala, and then his expression would melt back into Sam. As much as Sam claimed to love learning, Dean figured his brother probably wished he could do so without going to _school_.  
  
He absently twisted the silver ring around his finger, watching a group of teens – Christ, the kids looked about twelve years old – horse around before jumping into a yellow SUV. A couple of chicks passed the Impala, one of them flashing him a smile that he returned without any interest, and all the while his temper was flaring.  
  
_Okay, Sam, you’ve made your point._  
  
He tried to tamp down on the frustration building inside of him, but damn it, Sam had no fucking right to pout over the night before. They’d never made each other any promises, and even if they had…well, they _hadn’t_ and that was the end of it.   
  
Period.  
  
So then why did he feel like he’d screwed up the only thing that had ever really mattered to him? Why had he spent the entire day moping around the house, completely miserable as he replayed Sam’s behavior last night and that morning? It’d been his decision to pick up the cute bartender, bring her back, and he still stood by it. Whatever the hell had happened on the couch with him and Sam had been too intense, too fucking _much_ , and Dean was nowhere near ready to think about it.  
  
And when Dean needed to forget his troubles, a willing body always served its purpose. Unfortunately, the one willing body he’d _wanted_ was the one causing the trouble, but he’d made do with…Mandy? Candi? Anyway, he didn’t think she’d minded – or noticed – when he’d made the slip and whispered someone else’s name.  
  
His fingers clenched together seconds before he threw the car in park, jerked the keys out of the ignition and slammed the door behind him with the kind of force that would’ve gotten anyone else’s ass kicked. And then he was stalking inside the school, biting back memories of his own short-lived days in hell as he winced at the rows and rows of lockers and various school-club reminders plastering the walls.  
  
“Fucking creepy,” he muttered, following the long hallway to the front office. He half-expected to find Sam lurking about somewhere, a satisfied gleam in his eye when he realized he’d gotten Dean to come _looking_ for him like some kind of pissed-off, jealous lover.   
  
But he reached the office without a single glimpse of Sam, and Dean stared at the oaken desk and the formidable woman behind it with a vague sense of dread. For God’s sake, the shit he’d faced throughout his twenty-one years would’ve made anyone’s hair curl, but the sight of this grandma with the wrinkle lines and coke-bottle glasses made him want to fucking bolt.  
  
“Help you?” she barked, and Dean jumped a little before clearing his throat and offering a weak smile.  
  
“I’m uh, looking for someone? My brother,” he tacked on when the woman just continued to stare at him. “I was supposed to pick him up and—”  
  
“Name?”  
  
“Samuel Winchester,” Dean mumbled, grateful when she started typing furiously on the ancient keyboard in front of her. “He’s probably just in the library or something, mind pointing me in that—”  
  
“Didn’t show up to his afternoon classes,” Grandma interrupted, mouth flat and gaze disapproving as if it was _Dean’s_ fault. “Not that his attendance record is anything to brag about as it is.”  
  
“What do you mean he didn’t show up?” Something white-hot and terrifying plunged deep in his chest as his fingers gripped the edge of the desk. “He had, what, like an assembly or something?”  
  
The woman stared down her nose at him. “Young man, there were _no_ scheduled assemblies today.”  
  
Dean’s mind was reeling, and he barely managed a nod before turning on his heel and storming out of the office and back into the sunlit afternoon. It took him three tries to fit the keys into the lock and even longer to start the car he’d been driving in some way, shape or form since he’d been twelve years old. He peeled out of the parking lot, tires squealing and smoke rising from the asphalt, and then he was driving up and down random backroads, searching for God only knew what.   
  
Something had happened. There was no other explanation. The demon… _something_ had finally caught up to them, and it had taken Sam, and Dad wasn’t around to tell him what to do, and—  
  
Dad. Jesus.  
  
Dean’s eyes flicked to his cell phone, and he started to reach over for it. He had to let Dad know. Had to risk the possibility that the blame would fall on him – once again – because, Christ, this was Sam’s _life_ at stake, and if he didn’t—  
  
He nearly blew out his left tire when he happened to glance over his shoulder and saw the small dirt road leading out into the woods bordering the town. The same woods he knew, even from his short time as one, were a popular place for high school kids to hang out beneath adult radar at all hours of the day and night. Something odd niggled at the back of his mind, and he found himself turning onto the road even as his brain told him it couldn’t be the case.  
  
Because Sam, no matter _how_ pissed off he might be, would never do something like this. _Never_ ; not when he knew the things Dean had gone through, knew how absolutely important it was for them to know where the other was at all times.  
  
Except apparently Sam _would_ , because as Dean turned the corner and caught sight of the truck and the small group of kids around it, the first person his eyes snagged on had floppy brown hair and towered over all of the others even while lazing against the hood of the Jeep.  
  
Dean’s heart did a slow roll and twist, lodging itself somewhere in his throat as he parked the Chevy and got out. His legs were shaking; Sam’s slightly slurred laughter grating in his ears, and Dean’s trained senses caught the stench of drugs and alcohol as he approached. No one even seemed to notice him, which _really_ pissed him off, but he couldn’t think of what to say until Sam lifted a small, rolled cigarette to his lips.  
  
“ _Sam, what the fuck are you doing?_ ”  
  
At his explosion, everyone looked up. Sam’s fingers froze, the glazed smile slipping as his eyes widened. Then he spoke, voice and eyes challenging. “What are you doing here?”  
  
Dean blinked. “Get in the fucking car!” he directed to Sam, not even caring that he was practically shouting and definitely embarrassing his brother.  
  
Sam _laughed_ , the sound disbelieving and mocking. “Trying to be my daddy, too, Dean?”  
  
Dean took that as the knife to the gut that it was, but refused to let it show. Nails digging into his palms, he stared over Sam’s shoulder and met the gaze of some smirking teenage boy he’d never laid eyes on before. “Sam—”  
  
“How about this. _You_ get in the fucking car,” Sam interrupted, and now his voice was quavering and he took three steps toward Dean before adding in a low murmur, “And stay the fuck out of my life.”  
  
“Sam, maybe you oughta go with him,” the same kid Dean had been watching said, all lazy and accomodating as he leaned back against the Jeep. “He looks pretty pissed-off.”  
  
Sam’s lips went flat, and Dean thought he caught a gleam of tears in his brother’s eyes. “He’s a fucking jerk-off, Tony. Can’t have a life of his own so he has to…has to ruin mine.”  
  
The knife twisted in his belly when Sam’s shoulder bumped him back a few inches as he brushed past and climbed inside the Impala. Dean was left staring down a group of stoned teenage kids – several of whom looked more than a little terrified of what Dean might do, or say. The only one who met his gaze directly was Tony.   
  
Dean’s glare could’ve pierced through metal, but he refrained from walking over and annihilating the little bastard. It’d be too difficult to explain to the cops, and it would just piss Dad off. Instead, he turned on his heel and slid through the still-open driver’s side door.   
  
Sam was hunched as far away as he could get and still be _in_ the car, and Dean barely spared him a glance before thrusting the gears into drive and making a sharp left turn. When they were back on the main road, Dean could no longer take the silence. “When we get home, you’re gonna stick your finger down your throat and throw up whatever the hell you took. Do you understand me?”  
  
Sam didn’t reply for a long moment, and then his voice shook and was so soft Dean almost thought he’d imagined it. “Sometimes I hate you so much.”  
  
Dean couldn’t afford to let that hurt as much as it did.  
  
**[TBC]**

 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

 

Sam had never been so glad to hear the sound of his father’s rusty pickup, tires crunching gravel into dust as it rolled up the driveway a week later. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean perk up, grabbing the remote and muting the television. Sam kept his attention on his homework and didn’t speak.  
  
They hadn’t been doing much talking lately anyway.  
  
Sam listened as a car door slammed, pencil scratching across paper to the rhythm of heavy footsteps drawing closer. He looked up, finally, when his father stepped inside, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby table.  
  
“Dad,” Dean said, and Sam rolled his eyes at the eager, earnest note in his older brother’s voice.  
  
Fucking typical. Dad hadn’t been back for two minutes and Dean was already sucking up and forgetting the fact that he’d been pissed off at their father for leaving him behind in the first place.  
  
It wasn’t until Dean’s shoulders stiffened, his mouth going flat, that Sam realized he’d muttered that beneath his breath. Dad was too far away to hear, but his brother had always been way too attuned to Sam as it was. Which was part of the whole fucking problem.  
  
The first words out of John Winchester’s mouth weren’t of greeting but, “Did you remember to salt the doors and windows?”  
  
“Of course.” Dean sounded a bit offended at that, and Sam lowered his chin and smirked before his brother added, “Dad, did you get him?”  
  
“Yeah, I got him.” There was a quietly triumphant note coloring their father’s tone, and yet Sam knew he wasn’t satisfied. He’d never be satisfied until the ‘him’ in question was what they’d spent all their lives searching for. “Sam? You all right, son?”  
  
Sam’s gaze shot up, finding brother and father watching him. He almost laughed – their expressions were so familiar, but usually attached to the opposite person. The concern and affection written across his dad’s features was as foreign to him as the disapproval and distance on Dean’s.  
  
“Fine and dandy,” he answered, flipping through his textbook and offering a tight smile when he caught Dean’s gaze. There was a flash of something there, and then Dean turned on his heel and left the room. Sam swallowed back the bitter retort that wanted to spring to his lips.  
  
It’d been this way for days, since Dean had driven him home – high off of whatever the hell Tony had given him – and Dean had stood outside the bathroom door while Sam threw up, and then had slept in Dad’s bed. Nothing but chilly silence on both ends since.  
  
Sam was equal parts miserable and determined to prove, both to himself and Dean, that he didn’t _need_ Dean in the way he’d thought he did. And for a few moments with Tony and the others, he hadn’t. That had been the best gift anyone had given him in a long time.  
  
His dad took a seat across from him at the table, features drawn and exhausted, and Sam pushed his glass of water toward him. His father accepted it gratefully, and Sam’s eyes flicked to the living room. There was nothing but the sound of the television again.  
  
“I’ll be checking out again later this week,” his father said in a voice husky with needed sleep. “But before I go, I’m gonna need you boys to run some errands…gather up some stuff for me while I finalize my plans.”  
  
“I have school this week,” Sam reminded him, already stiffening in preparation for the argument sure to follow. “Mid-terms are starting and—”  
  
“Fine, Dean can do it during the day.” His father rubbed his eyes, and Sam swallowed the rest of his words, a bit surprised by how easy that had been.  
  
A thought started to form in his mind, and he bit his lower lip while contemplating if he even had the balls to go for it. It only took another quick look at the living room and the reminder of Dean’s throaty cries while fucking some strange girl for the decision to come.  
  
“Dad, I was thinking…” He twirled his pencil, hoping like hell his father couldn’t hear the waver in his voice. “I, uh, I have this friend at school. If you need it, he could drive me there and home so Dean won’t have to bother. I mean, that way you guys could get more stuff done before you leave, right?”  
  
During the five seconds between his question and his father opening his mouth to reply, Sam’s heart lodged itself somewhere in his throat and he could practically taste every thudding beat.  
  
“You’re not going anywhere with that kid.”  
  
Sam’s head whipped around, and he stared at Dean in the doorway of the kitchen. His brother’s features were flushed and angry, his entire body practically shaking as he fisted his hands at his side and glared at Sam.  
  
Sam had never really seen Dean look like that. Sure, his brother got upset, but he usually covered it up with sarcasm or brushed it off with a joke and a carefree grin. The only other time he’d ever even heard Dean _yell_ had been a few days ago, when he’d found Sam and the others.  
  
“Dean,” their father started, looking just as taken aback as Sam felt. “What the hell is your problem?”  
  
The crisp sound of his voice apparently took some of the wind out of Dean’s sails, but he kept his gaze firmly trained on Sam, sharp enough to slice a hole in his gut. “Sorry, sir. But I just don’t think it’s a good idea. We don’t know anything about Sam’s _friend._ ”  
  
Sam immediately knew then that Dean would say nothing about what had happened. As mad as he was, he wasn’t gonna risk putting Sam and Dad at odds for the short time Dad was home. And Sam felt only a little guilty that he was about to use that to his advantage.  
  
“It makes sense, Dad,” he said, turning away and acting as if Dean hadn’t even spoken, wasn’t standing right there, even as he felt every hot stare like a knife in his back. “You need Dean…I can just—”  
  
“It takes me fifteen minutes to take you there and pick you up,” Dean interrupted, and this time he came fully into the room. “It’s a _stupid_ idea, Sam.”  
  
Sam’s fingers curled into the table and he finally lifted his gaze to his brother’s. They stared at one another for a long moment, Dean’s eyes flashing with some emotion Sam couldn’t put a name to. His chest clenched and he forced the words out through a throat tight with frustration. “I wasn’t asking _you_ , Dean.”  
  
Dean visibly flinched, then looked toward their father with almost pleading eyes. “Dad, I just don’t think—”  
  
“Okay, that’s enough.” Their dad had remained silent during the short exchange, but his eyes were now narrowed and irritated. “I don’t know what the hell went down while I was gone, but you two are gonna buck up and put an end to your argument. Now.” Before Sam or Dean could say anything, he added, “And Sam has a point, Dean. I’m in a hurry and could use your help. If he can get a ride from someone else for a few days, it’s fine.”  
  
Dean’s mouth fell open, voice strangled. “But sir—”  
  
“Sammy knows how to take care of himself during a fifteen minute ride to school.” John’s voice was final, and Sam swallowed back the triumphant smile as Dean nodded, expression gone blank as their father stood up and made his way to his bedroom.  
  
The minute they were alone, Sam couldn’t keep from snarking, “Daddy’s good little soldier.”  
  
Once the words were out, he wished he could take them back. He waited for Dean to explode, to launch himself across the table and choke Sam until he apologized. To fucking _touch_ him, period.  
  
Not that Sam needed that.  
  
But Dean didn’t move, didn’t blink. That was even worse. His voice was hoarse and thick and it twisted Sam’s insides. “Yeah. You win, Sammy.”  
  
And then he was gone.  
  
  
 

* * *

  
  
  
Dean slumped in the front seat of the Impala as he watched Sam climb inside of Tony’s Jeep, all arms and legs and smile that definitely should _not_ have been directed at the little prick in the driver’s seat.  
  
He waited until tires squealed and the Jeep pulled out of the driveway before starting the ignition. Easily ignoring the part of himself that knew this was ridiculous, he shoved a pair of sunglasses on his nose and followed Sam and the Jeep.  
  
Dad might think Sam could take care of himself, but Dad hadn’t been there to see what could happen. And since Dean just couldn’t fucking tell their father what Sam had done, couldn’t stand to see the disappointment and rage that would color John Winchester’s features, it was up to him to put a stop to this.  
  
He was so fucking tired of the way Sam was acting. So fucking _sick_ of the silent battles and letting every single thing his younger brother said or didn’t say hurt him the way it did. Dean wished he knew how to ignore it, how to turn off the part of himself that cared so fucking much, but it was impossible when it came to Sam.  
  
Always had been.  
  
And he _missed_ Sam. Missed talking to him, touching him, feeling him…hearing Sam’s bright laughter and his desperate whimpers, Dean’s name thick and heavy on his tongue…  
  
His fingers clenched around the wheel, knuckles white and tensed. This had been _his_ decision. His fault. He’d _known_ Sam was too young to grasp what was happening between them, even if he realized how wrong it was. And now Sam was acting out and rebelling out of hurt and anger and Dean…Dean wasn’t sure how to fix any of it.  
  
He was still positive that _that_ part of their relationship should be over. As much as he missed it – and _Christ_ , but he did – he wasn’t ready for what he was pretty damn sure Sam wanted. Wasn’t ready to admit to himself that he was truly that fucked up and twisted.  
  
Sam was young. Sam had an excuse. Dean didn’t.  
  
He was jerked out of his thoughts when Tony took a sharp right turn that definitely wasn’t on the usual route to Sam’s school. Immediately, Dean perked up and followed, pulse roaring in his ears as he clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. He’d known, fucking _known_ this was a bad idea.  
  
When the Jeep came to a stop just off the main road, Dean slowed the Impala and sighed as Sam jumped out and crossed his arms across his chest. His hair was mussed, eyes half-lidded and expression more than a little irritated.  
  
Busted.  
  
He parked the Impala, hot and bitter words already on his tongue as he got out to face his brother. Sam walked right up to him and Dean opened his mouth. “So, taking the scenic route or—”  
  
The fist came out of nowhere. One minute he’d been standing there, righteously indignant, and the next he was sprawled out in the dirt and staring up at Sam as the coppery flavor of blood spilled across his tongue. He licked the corner of his mouth, wincing a bit at the swollen, bruised flesh.  
  
“You son of a…” Sam trailed off before he could finish the statement, visibly trembling as he fisted the hand he’d just used on Dean. “You’re fucking _following_ me now, Dean?”  
  
Dean lifted himself onto his elbows, well aware of Tony’s watchful gaze a few feet away. Sam’s friend had gotten out the minute Sam had thrown the punch, and looked like he wasn’t quite sure what to do about the situation. Dean warned him with his eyes to stay out of it, and hoped Tony heeded the silent command. He’d hate to have to do something he couldn’t explain to the police.  
  
“You’re unbelievable,” Sam muttered, tone disgusted. “Don’t even have an excuse, do you? Probably thought I was too fucking _stupid_ to _notice_.”  
  
Dean caught the vulnerability in his brother’e expression, and for a moment he softened. “Sammy…”  
  
“Don’t fucking call me that.” A sharp intake of breath, then, “I don’t want you to call me that. It’s _Sam_ , okay? I’m not a little kid, Dean. And I’m not your responsibility.”  
  
“Oh, really?” He’d been ready to concede to Sam’s wishes until that. His voice went deep, low. “Not my responsibility, huh? Maybe you _are_ stupid. I guess you missed the fact that we’re blood, _Sam._.”  
  
Sam’s eyes flashed, voice matching Dean’s in a near-whisper. “How could I forget? You bring it up every time you touch me.”   
  
Dean froze, eyes flicking to where Tony stood. “This-this isn’t the time for that,” he warned, throat dry.  
  
“No, of course not. There’s never a time for _that_ , right Dean? You know what…leave me the fuck alone. Just _leave me the fuck alone!_ ” Sam’s voice broke, and then he was turning to walk away.  
  
Dean came to his feet, fingers reaching out and wrapping around Sam’s wrist, jerking him to a halt. “This conversation’s not over,” he said, still watching Tony’s impassive expression. “Get your ass to school.”  
  
“Like you have any fucking say so over what my ass does.” The comment should have been ridiculous and hysterical, but the tears Dean was deathly afraid were gleaming in Sam’s eyes pretty much erased any possible amusement.  
  
“God, Sam.” He hated that this was happening _now_ , that Tony was there to witness the whole fucking thing, that there wasn’t a damn thing Dean could do without making the situation even worse. Voice husky, broken, he whispered, “Come on.”  
  
Sam’s throat worked, then he nodded. “Yeah. Fine. Whatever you say, Dean.” The words were mocking and unforgiving, but Dean was willing to accept that. For now. He released Sam’s arm, watched his brother walk back to the Jeep and get in. Listened to Sam drive away while he remained left behind.  
  
Considering the fact that he’d intended that all along, he couldn’t say he liked the feeling even a little.  
  
**[TBC]**

 


End file.
